


Two Words

by Dewsparkle



Series: Little Stories of the Avenging Kind [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Farbauti Sire, Farbauti's Good Parenting, Good Loki, Hermaphrodites, Jötunn Loki, Laufey Dam, Laufey's Good Parenting, Loki Feels, Loki Gets a Hug, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki-centric, Mentions of Helblindi & Býleistr, Odin's Bad Parenting, Other, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:38:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewsparkle/pseuds/Dewsparkle
Summary: Two words and his famed silvertongue fails him. Two words and Loki's life shatters around him. Two words, and everything he thought he knew was a lie. Two words and Loki is alone.Laufey's son.





	Two Words

“Laufey’s son.”

Two words. A mere two words and Loki, the Wordsmith, the Silver-tongue, was rendered speechless. Such was no easy feat, for Loki’s words, along with his prowess in magic, were his greatest abilities and tools, as well as weapons when deemed necessary.

It was but a moment, that length of time in which the once Silver-tongued man- _(“…silver tongue turned to lead?”)_ was unable to speak, unable to articulate the chaos his mind had plummeted into.

_Laufey’s son._

Two words. Two words that did not make _sense_. How could they be true? It was a lie, was it not? He was the son of Frigga and Odin, brother to Thor. How could he be the child of _monsters_?

_Laufey’s son._

Words came to him, but his thoughts did not. His mouth moved in the shapes of speech, his breath somehow found its way back into his lungs and gusting out to give sound to the silent onslaught his lips were trying to create.

_Laufey’s son._

Two words. Two words was all it took. Two words, and the great Loki was no more. Many had tried to best him over his centuries of life, and none had succeeded until now. He had been contested in all things; his fighting, his seidr, his intelligence, his _words_. And he had triumphed and learnt to better himself where he failed.

Two words and he was once again the small child he once was- still is, deep inside -hiding and nursing his wounds, both physical and verbal. Two words and he was once again the child that wanted to hide behind, or even under as he had done once, his mothers’ skirts to escape the cruelties of others. But no, she was not his mother and she never was.

_Laufey’s son._

He is distantly aware of what he is saying. He feels detached from his body, simply watching as it tries futilely to gain answers, to find something that will tell him it isn’t true.

_Laufey’s son._

His hand _burns_ where it was touched. Where the doubt was planted. Where the seeds of his sanity’s undoing were sowed with all the care of a drunken bull in a shop filled with delicate china. He craves to remove it from his being, to remove the seed before it has a chance to root further into himself and change him forever.

_Laufey’s son._

There are tears now, his masks are gone and he is screaming for answers his Fath- Odin will not give. “ _No, Loki.”_ His eye seems to say while the old lips stay silent. Two more words, unspoken as they were, and Loki felt himself drifting, wishing, _hoping_ , someone would end this cruel torment.

Two words to undo Loki the Trickster. It only ever took two words and now twice, he is left with no voice for another moment.

_Laufey’s son._

Loki has been a gifted shape-shifter since he was but a small child. To shift one’s shape so completely is not something that can be achieved with mere spells or potions. Illusions are the closest, but they do not physically change the being, the eyes and senses of others can merely be tricked into believing the lie if one is skilled enough. Shifting is simply there or it is not. It is an ability born into a being.

_Laufey’s son._

He is alone in the vault now, sitting uncomfortably and awkwardly on the cold steps long after the guards have carried his not-father away. Did he kill him? He is a monster after all. What if he has killed his Not-Father?

_Laufey’s son._

There have been stories, of Shifters changing at an early age and staying that way. It becomes their base skin, their default, the shape they return to. A Shifter will always come back to their own skin eventually. Young enough, the body can be tricked into thinking it is what it is not, but inexperience can lead to telling differences left from their true form.

_Laufey’s son._

And Loki… Loki is not Aesir. He had always been different, so very different, for all he was raised the same as any other Aesir. A scholar and sorcerer first and warrior last. He knew there was something wrong with his nether regions, but he had dared not tell a soul. He is accused of being ergi enough as it was. Loki thought he was Aesir, and he had shaped his sense of self, as many do, around the race he thought he was. Around the family he thought was his. Who was he, if not Loki Odinson?

_Laufeyson._

Loki… no, Loki is Jötunn. Loki is a _monster_.

\---

He appears in his chambers with a thud, misjudging where the floor was and stumbling as he landed. All he knows is that he must leave. Anything he needs, he stores away in his hidden pocket of space. He stores anything of value to him, sentimental or otherwise.

He pulls on his deep emerald cloak and lifts the hood. He leaves his chambers, mind swirling in a storm of half-formed thoughts. He is jittery and twitches at every unexpected noise he hears as he makes his way out of the palace and into the gardens. He does not trust himself to move along the branches of Yggdrasil and instead heads for one of the hidden paths within the realms.

His monster hand is aching and it stings where Loki holds it, to make sure it stays the way it should, and he does not understand why. His fingers feel slick with something warm and wet, but he thinks he is sweating under the anxiety that someone will take one look at him and _know,_ so he ignores it. He is terrified that they will look upon him and just know that Loki is a monster and needs to be slain for the safety of the realms.  And maybe he does need to be killed, for he is a beast. A savage, heartless, _monster_.

He hears a familiar voice shout is name, the rustle of skirts as the person runs, trying to catch up with him. Stiff with fear, he looks over his shoulder and sees his moth- Frigga rushing towards him with an expression he cannot decipher when not in his right mind. Her skirts are held tightly in her hands as she rushes towards him with all pretence of queenliness forgotten.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he turns and runs. He feels his seidr bubbling and boiling uncontrollably beneath his skin, ready to lash out at a moment’s notice. His breathing is heavy and shuddering as he pushes himself to move faster, even though he knows that the Queen will be unable to catch him without resorting to magic.

The path is close, so close he can feel it sing to him as he approaches, tendrils of the Great Tree reaching towards his being. He reaches for it with his hand, his monster hand he notes in surprise, blinking at the red-stained fingers. His pale, blood covered fingers brush against the Path as he feels familiar magic hit his back. The pale blue of his once-mothers seidr engulfs him and he immediately starts to fall into darkness, knees giving way and suddenly unable to support his weight, but it is too late.

The Path’s tendrils twist and grip tightly around the tips of his fingers and yank the rest of him forwards harshly, a hairbreadth after his knees hit the ground roughly and jarring his spine painfully. It is dangerous to not be conscious while using the hidden ways across the realms, as most Paths have a tendency to deposit their travellers out at unsuspecting moments if they are not paying enough attention.

But Loki could not care, for he had already succumbed to the sleep the spell he was struck with induced. The moment of consciousness he had before, was overwhelmed with an intense sense of betrayal. That spell was used on him as a child to ease him to sleep after a nightmare. It was never used to forced sleep, only made it easier to succumb to. Barely any seidr used, but this, this was powerful with the intent to incapacitate instantly. Will the betrayals never end?

\---

When Loki next wakes he is confused. He cannot feel his body and that is in itself disorientating. He cannot see, for it is too dark and he cannot move. He thoughts are sluggish with sleep and he struggles to remember what has happened.

He remembers running for the path between worlds when a warmth engulfed him and- oh.

He struggles to move again, panic clawing at his chest- or maybe that was his heart? Did monsters have hearts?

He realises then his eyes are closed, and that is why all he can see is darkness, so he forces them open and blinks. The sky is dark, but stars unfamiliar. He is surrounded by white and is half covered in the stuff. Snow. He is covered in snow.

Letting out a shaky breath he tries again to move. He still can’t feel his body, but now he thinks it is because of the cold. He struggles to pull his hand free and lets out a cry of pain once he does. It is his monster hand, he notes absently as he stares at the mutilated flesh.

Deep, bloody gouges have been ripped and scratched into the skin of his hand and forearm, staining it red with bits of skin flapping where it should not. It bleeds sluggishly, even through the cold that has his flesh stiff and blue tinged, angry red where the cold bites at the pale flesh.

Dizziness at the sight makes him groan and drop his hand back onto the snow, panting with exertion. He doesn’t know where he is and only now is he starting to feel the cold, now that he is aware that he very much should be freezing.

He shivers, or at least he thinks he does and tries again to move. His entire body protests painfully and he gasps for air, blackness creeping into his vision. He thinks he hears a voice, but cannot be certain. He thinks, as the blackness closes in further, that he sees a large shape loom over him. Vaguely, he thinks he should be more afraid than he is, but he is too tired and lets the darkness pull him back into its comforting embrace.

\---

The next time Loki wakes, the first thing he notes is that he is warm. The second is that this is wrong, because he should not be warm. But he cannot remember _why_ it is wrong for him to be warm.

His body aches and his arm throbs when his fingers twitch. A quiet, but involuntary whimper escapes his lips as he shifts, trying to curl himself around the pain. His eyes refuse to open, and he hears footsteps approach. He whimpers again against his will in fear when he feels a large, cool hand gently prevent him from curling in on himself and forces him to lay flat once again.

What must be a cup is pressed to his chapped lips and his lips part ever so slightly of their own violation, before a sweet tasting liquid of some kind is trickled into his mouth. That same overly large hand massages his throat to help him swallow and he does, his thoughts too jumbled and slow to protest.

The pain quickly fades and he feels himself relax, tension he did not know he had leaving him as the large fingers began to stroke through his hair. He hears the soft tune of a lullaby somewhere nearby, and can’t help but feel he has heard it before, although he does not understand the words.

Loki is warm and pain free with the aid of the sweet tasting liquid, and he feels safe with the soft tune and large fingers in his hair. He almost does not wish to, but he feels himself drift back into slumber not long after the tune had begun.

\---

Loki stirs some time later and his thoughts feel slightly clearer than they had before. His recent memories are blurred and hard to make any sense of. He shifts slightly under the thick and heavy fur he is covered with and turns his head, trying to force his eyes to open.

He blinks the room into focus and frowns. He did not recognise this room and as his vision clears, he feels his breath catch in his throat. Loki feels himself reach for his monster hand and squeeze, ignoring the itch and pain the action causes when the bandages rubs against his wounds.

There is ice _everywhere_. All he can see other than the fur is ice. Where is he? Why is there so much ice? There is only one realm where there is so much ice and he _can’t be here._ He does not want to be among monsters, even if he is one himself.

It’s hard to draw breath and he pushes himself up into a sitting position, barely registering he is wearing nothing but warm looking pants and his own thick socks, because when he looks down at his uncovered torso he is _blue_. His skin is cobalt blue and there are raised markings adorning his torso and arms and _he can’t breathe_.

No, no, no! His monster hand has infected the rest of him and he needs to get it _off_. He tears at the blue skin in a panic, tears leaking from his eyes at the pain as he breathes roughly. It does not bleed red as it should. His blood is _red_ and not _blue_. He is not blue, he is not a monster. He needs to remove the monster skin.

He hears a shout and it makes him jump, still clawing at his flesh without looking up. Large, _blue hands_ suddenly appear into his field of vision and he tries to pull away, but they grab his slim wrists and forcibly pull them out and away from his chest with a firm but not too painful grip.

He struggles and panics and tries to free himself- he needs to remove the monster skin and _he can’t breathe_ as the voice speaks to him but he cannot understand the words past the pounding in his ears, too focused on his blue-bloodied chest.

The voice is still speaking to him, even as he feels the body holding him twist to look over their shoulder and shout something else. Loki doesn’t understand what they’re saying and that only makes him struggle harder.

He thinks he might be speaking, or screaming, he doesn’t know. He thinks he feels his mouth moving but he can’t be sure as he twists and pulls and kicks to try and escape whatever is holding him. Its dark and he doesn’t know when he closed his eyes or how long he’s been struggling because all he knows is that he needs to _get away_ and get rid of the monster skin before it turns his mind as well.

He hates himself for it, but eventually his struggles weaken, too exhausted to continue fighting while also loosing blood- even if it is only a monster’s blood and not his. He slumps suddenly, remaining energy leaving him within the span of a single breath. Loki feels himself be gently pulled forward until his head rests against a large, cool chest.

Against his will, Loki feels himself relaxing into the strangely familiar embrace as his arms are released and a large arm wrapped behind his back. The soft tune is back again and Loki shudders out a breath of air, his body limp where it was being held.

Loki doesn’t know how long he’s held there, but eventually he feels himself being gently laid out on his back. He blinks at the blue face above him, ruby eyes standing out amongst the blue. A Jötunn, then. Loki can do nothing but tense slightly, finding himself too exhausted to react as he knew he should, so instead he just stares blankly at the beast in front of him.

“Are you calm now, my child?” The Jötunn asks, leaning to the side to grab something while still watching Loki closely with concern. _My child?_ Surely not, although, he does recognise the face if he concentrates enough, but his brain is swimming in molasses again and it hurts to try and find his way past it. He frowns slightly instead, and the Jötunn above him gives a sigh.

“It matters not, just lay still and I will tend to your wounds.” A cloth appears and the Frost Giant begins to dab at his chest a few times before rinsing the blue stained cloth in a bowl of water.

Loki lets it happen, watching his chest and the movements of the hand and cloth like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. At that moment, with his thoughts so far from his grasp, it probably is.

Why is this Jötunn helping him? They’re monsters, are they not? Monsters don’t care. Monsters aren’t gentle or- or… monsters don’t make you feel safe. Loki didn’t _understand_. He just wanted to forget and go back to when Frigga could be his mother and he wasn’t the monster parents tell their children about at night.

Silent tears leak from his eyes and he realises he’s sitting up, the Jötunn finishing the bandaging around his torso. The Jötunn sighs and rubs his back in a frustratingly comforting way and pulls him close once again.

“Hush, my child, all will be well.” They sooth, deep voice sounding just above his head. “What is the matter?”

It takes Loki a while to find his voice, to form words from any coherent thought. “I don’t _understand_.” He finally chokes out.

The Jötunn lets out a gusty breath and pulls him closer. “Oh my child, what have they done to you?”

“Who are you? Where am I?” He asks, trying to get his thoughts in order. He has so many questions and he desperately needs answers. And he needs them to be the truth even more so.

“You are in the healing halls, my child. I am your Sire, Fárbauti.”

Sire? What- did he mean father? And wait- _Fárbauti?_

“What… I don’t-“ He stutters against Fárbauti’s chest.

“I do not know what you were told, my child, but I am your Sire and Laufey King is your Dam. We thought you had died-“

“You left me!” Loki suddenly exclaims, cutting off Fárbauti. His chest clenches. “I-I was just a runt and you abandoned me and-“ A firm squeeze expels the little air Loki had from his lungs, forcing him to stop speaking. Fárbauti growls and Loki shrinks in on himself at the sound, prepared for a blow that does not come.

“No. No, my child, never abandoned. Odin One-Eye is a liar and child-thief.” Loki is already shaking his head, not wanting to accept what he is being told, but Fárbauti either doesn’t notice- unlikely- or ignores him and continues.

“We had been driven back into our realm from Midgard, we were ready to cease our attempt on it, for the resources were not worth more lives, we had lost many as it was. But the Aesir king saw fit to invade Jötunheimr and decimate us, intent on stealing the heart of our realm. Your Dam and I took you to the temple where the Casket was kept for protection, for if the temple was breached all was lost either way, and we believed that the Aesir would not cease until all of us slaughtered. That temple was the most heavily defended place all of Jötunheimr at that time.

“When the war was over, the Aesir gone, and most all our people lost in the slaughter, Laufey and I returned to the temple. Every guard, every Dam, Sire, child and babe who had been hiding there were slaughtered and we could not find your body amongst so many. So we could do naught but mourn and hope that you did not suffer. Now I see we hoped for too much, if this is the result.”

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, eyes fixed on the large chest he was held against. They… tried to protect him?

“Wha… I don’t…” He stutters out, mind racing with the implications, before deciding to focus on one thing the Jötunn- his Sire? had mentioned instead. “The heart?”

“The Casket directs the energies of our realm. We as a people are one with magic. While not many of us have any gift in seidr, we are one with the element of our realm and the Casket keeps the balance. Without it, the energies are no longer directed where they should. In short, elskede, when the Aesir stole our realms heart they condemned all who reside upon it to a slow death. Jötunheimr crumbles around us, the ice loses its strength and our seas grow more barren and food is scarcer than it was when the heart was stolen, new babes rarely live past infancy.”

Loki is left reeling. All those tales of Jötunn savages, monsters, beasts, too uncivilised for more than caves, cannibalising their own people and any unfortunate enough to be caught on the icy wastes, killing their own young- his mind abruptly jumps back to what Odin had said.

_“Your birthright was to die!”_

He shakes his head, eyes stinging with moisture, hands balling into fists against the large _Norns damned_ comforting chest. His monster hand hurts anew and does nothing to help him hold back the tears prickling just under his eyes.

“But I am just a worthless runt! Why would anyone- I thought… _you left me to die_.” He sobs, burying his face against the chest of his Sire, who merely pulls him closer and shushes him gently, rocking them both.

“Hush child, forget whatever Odin-Child Thief has told you. Forget the teachings of prejudice. You are small, yes, but no runt. You are still young yet, my child, it will take a while more for you to grow into yourself fully. We have missed you dearly, and our people mourned the loss of their first-born prince.” Fárbauti soothes, pressing a kiss to the top of his dark hair.

“Young? I don’t understand, I am already at maturity, am I not?”

Fárbauti chuckles, shaking their head. “No, you are still young yet. We do not age like the Aesir. We age slow, and birth slower. Children are rare, the realm is harsh and now most babes die, as their energies were not properly balanced within their Dam’s womb. Some babes grow, but grow malformed.”

Loki frowned. “I’m yet to come of age, then?”

Fárbauti nods. “You are still but a child to us, and it seems that your body had tried to force itself to mature along with the Aesir. Now that you share our skin once more, you will find yourself looking much like a child, I’m afraid.” There is a note of amusement in their voice. “Though I cannot say I feel any sympathy, for your Dam and I have been robbed of these past few centuries and I dare say your siblings did nothing to ease our grief at never seeing you grow.”

Loki just sits there for a long while, held in the comforting arms of his Sire. He was _wanted_. His seidr coiled under his skin at this realisation. He had a _family_. He has a mother and father- a Dam and Sire, and siblings and maybe the people wouldn’t hate him here. Maybe here he could just be _Loki_ and not Loki the Trickster, Loki the Liar. Womanly, ugly, worthless Loki.

He feels a large thumb, calloused from years of work, rub gently under his eye and he realises he’d started to cry. “Thank you.” He says, but he’s not sure exactly what he’s thanking them for. Everything, Loki thinks.

“Thank me for naught, my child. It is my duty as your Sire to care for you and sooth your fears where I can. I find I have been remis in my duties until this day, so in turn, I feel the need to thank you for allowing me this happiness of holding you in my arms once more.”

Loki doesn’t know how long they sit there, but eventually he feels his eyelids grow heavy and pain is known to him again as whatever potion he’d previously ingested wares off. He shifts slightly to lean more fully against his Sire, wincing at the pull on his torso where he’d tried to scratch his own skin off.

Fárbauti must notice his fatigued and settles a large palm against his back to ease him back onto the bed, pulling the furs over his body for warmth. It is the first time Loki gets a proper look at their face. Fárbauti has hair, unlike every other Jötunn he had seen, and has raised markings lining their narrow features. They look almost… soft, even if the word does not seem to make sense, when looking into the deep red eyes that had haunted his dreams for his childhood on Asgard.

“Rest now, and when you are well, I will gather Helblindi and Býleistr. They have been most anxious to meet their elder brother- it is brother, yes?” At Loki’s confused look, Fárbauti elaborates. “We choose which we are, as at birth we are the same. Most do not wish to be either.”

“Uh, yes. Brother is good. What do I address them as?”

Fárbauti smiles and fusses with the furs, reaching over to a table for something he can’t see from his lowered vantage point. “Your brothers have been trying to see you since they were told who you were. Laufey was the one to receive you when our patrol found you in the snow, I feared he would not be able to leave your side. He was at your side, when you first woke, I had to force him to rest not long before you woke again in distress.”

Loki winces, chest aching in reminder. “Sorry…” He says weakly, shame burning his cheeks. He has already failed his Sire in such a short time. It seems he can do nothing right.

“Do not apologise, elskede. It is by no fault of your own that this is difficult to accept. You are a great sorcerer and to have your sense of self shattered so- well, I am only glad that Ymir’s eye guided your journey to us for I fear where your mind might have fled to had it not. It pains my soul to see what Odin Liar’s deeds have done to you.”

His Sire gazes at him imploringly, resting a large, cool hand against the side of his face. “Please, you are loved. You are a gift to us and to our people. A Shifter and Sorcerer has not been seen in Jötunheimr for many millennia. Your talents will not be scorned, for such gifts are seen as great miracles, especially in such despairing times for our people.”

Loki can only nod, blinking back tears as his Sire presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You will have to stay indoors until you are well. Your body has yet to adapt to the harsh winters of this realm, despite your true form returning to you, it has adapted to the heat of Asgard. It is possible you may always feel the cold when the weather is extreme, but the healers do not believe it will become a problem.”

Fárbauti retrieves something from the table and Loki can year the pop of a cork before a vial of liquid is presented to him. He opens his mouth and drinks the sweet tasting potion, sighing in relief as his pains fade, leaving him feeling lethargic.

“What was my name?” He slurs, eyelids drooping as exhaustion pulls him to sleep. His Sire falters for a brief moment, before smiling down at him. It is that smile that has him resolve to return to Asgard only once more, to retrieve a single treasure.

“Loptr. We named you Loptr, sweet child.” They stroke his cheek, eyes shining.

It all ended with two words, and now, it begins again with three.

“My little Loptr.”

**Author's Note:**

> elskede - beloved one
> 
> I hope you liked this, it was kinda just an idea I had and I hope I did it okay. I always liked the idea of Fárbauti and Laufey being good parents and wanted to do a little thing for that.
> 
> The films don't really give us the chance to know if Odin was lying or not as we only see Laufey four times (the battle on Midgard, when Thor goes to their realm, when Loki speaks to him, and when Loki kills him. Not exactly enough time to tell if he was actually a bad person let alone if he'd left his child to die when he finds out the child lives and then kills him immediately after) - although I think that he was because it seems odd to place the royal child in the temple with your most precious artifact during war-time with the intent to leave it to die. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this and that you have a wonderful day/night! :)


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